POV: Eros
Love requires patience—even for gods.
I watch them step onto the ancient path, my path, though they don't know it yet. The white wolf leads her chosen family into territory that exists between mortal understanding and divine influence—a liminal space where the air tastes different, carries weight that mortal lungs can barely process. A place where I can observe without interfering, can guide without controlling, where my divine essence bleeds into reality just enough to shape without overwhelming.
She's stronger than I expected. Unbroken despite years of abuse that would have shattered lesser souls, that have shattered countless souls before her. The Direwolf power runs true in her blood, ancient and pure, singing through her veins like music only I can hear—a melody of potential and barely restrained wildness. But it's not the power that calls to me, not the supernatural strength or the rarity of her nature.
It's her choices.
